


Sweetest Taboo

by Annie17851



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, angst; off-screen Destiel; unrequited Sastiel; PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam shouldn't be thinking about these things, especially in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest Taboo

**Author's Note:**

> Sam shouldn't be thinking about these things, especially in the shower.   
> Mostly just smut.

Sweetest Taboo

 

The first brush of his fingers over his cock sends heat flaring through him, competing successfully with the pulsating rain of hot water from the shower head. 

There really is good water pressure in the bunker. 

The hunt had been successful, but the adrenalin necessary for that success is still thrumming through Sam’s body. He had hoped the hot shower would wash all that left-over energy away along with the Wendigo splatter, but apparently that isn't going to be the case. 

But it isn't the images of the hunt itself that are sticking in Sam’s brain. It’s Dean. Actually, Dean and Castiel. 

It’s always Dean and Castiel. Never Sam and Castiel. 

The hunter and his angel are like weird magnetic poles, opposites attracting inexorably. Sometimes Sam wonders what actually had to happen, physically, for Castiel to have raised Dean from Hell and put him back together. Angelic, graced hands on Dean’s skin, every inch of it, reconstructing, making sure it was perfect. Except for that brand, that mark that made Dean the angel’s without question. 

Sam’s thumb captures a small glisten of pre-come before the warm water can wash it totally away, the light brush of skin on skin sending a shudder through his body despite the heat enfolding him in the glassed-in shower. 

Sam knows what they are doing right now, his brother and the angel. Ex-angel. Dean’s angel, Sam reminds himself futilely. 

They are thankfully discreet, but they always seem to disappear after returning to the bunker from hunts, always in the direction of the other, bigger shower two hallways away from where Sam is right now. 

He’d walked into that room just once, only wanted to ask Dean something trivial, something that flew right out of his head when he saw the two figures dimly through the fogged-in glass. It wasn't graphic, just two murky figures holding onto each other tightly, but the spike of heat that shot through Sam’s insides stunned him into silence, urged him to get out before they heard him, rendered him unexpectedly breathless. 

It’s wrong to think about this, Sam knows, to be jealous of that bond forged between a hunter and an angel in a desperate flight from Hell.

Sam’s body doesn't care about that, never cares what Sam’s brain says.

Castiel is still an angel in Sam’s eyes. It’s blasphemy to feel this. Even worse, he is Dean’s angel, there is no doubt about that, never actually was, and Sam shouldn't think about his brother’s, - what? soulmate? – like this. Just thinking about it is wrong. This? Pleasuring himself while he thinks about it? More than wrong.

Sam runs a hand smoothly down over his chest, displacing drops of hot water, brushing over taut nipples, almost feeling the quickening beat of his heart on his fingers. Wonders how Cas touches Dean when no one is around to see.

He’s seen their touches, of course, the pseudo-platonic ones, hand on a shoulder, fingers checking the extent of an injury, brushing dirt off a face or out of hair. 

Sam runs a hand back up his chest all the way to his wet hair, fingers plowing through to pull roughly, other hand closing around his hardening cock lightly, teasing. Turns his face up into the spray of water, eyes closed, and maybe it’s Cas’s hair he is touching, because he wants to do that. Wants to grip that tousled hair and make an angel kneel before him and that’s a dangerous image to have in his head.

(Blasphemy. But oh, just how worth it that would be!)

Rips the hand out of his hair and smooths it back down his wet body, past his cock to brush softly over his balls. The hand on his cock tightens, stills, and Sam has to take the other hand away from his balls, has to use it to brace himself against the wall of the shower in front of him, drops his head, lets the hot water pound against the back of his neck. 

Feels so so good. 

Pull of his cock, just once up and down to start and he gasps almost silently, wants to know if Castiel’s body feels like this when the angel is aroused, wants to know if having been one of Heaven’s finest gives him an edge, makes everything feel even better. Squeezes his eyes tightly and holds his breath for a second because he’ll never know, can’t ask his brother, can’t ask Cas.

Sam needs to finish this, before he runs out of hot water; he’s delayed it long enough now. 

Keeps his eyes closed, feels the heat suffusing through him from the water and the demanding hand on his cock. Faster and faster, punishing his cock because this feels so good and it shouldn't, Cas is an angel for fuck’s sake. Then he sees the image in his head, Castiel, all skin and piercing blue and tousled dark and maybe, just maybe, it’s Castiel’s hand touching Sam and that’s all it takes. All it takes to pull the orgasm out of him and Sam bites his own lip desperately, because he can’t let them hear. Can’t let them hear him groan out a name that’s not his to utter so possessively. 

Sam leans further against the shower wall, breath coming in short gasps, heart pounding in his chest.

Dean’s angel. Dean’s.


End file.
